Kink Instinct
May 27, 2010 in Writing
I’m the stenographer of instinct. A natural. Grade A, #1. An Asian bride to take home to your Presbyterian family. At first they won’t like me, but once I do my table dance and slip into your father’s lap, their feelings will get a little jumbled.
“She’s not all that bad,” dad will say.
“Hell, she can sleep in my room,” says little brother.
“That woman cannot stay the night in my home!” says mom.
Sister Jane slips her a note that says meet me out back when the lights go out.
You check the byline of this story, and it’s a man’s name. So how can I be an Asian war bride decades after the war has moved to greener pastures?
Life is full of riddles and questions. Life is riddled with questions. Life is like a heart that keeps beating long after it’s been sliced out of the body. I’m a mild-mannered reporter who every time he steps into a phone booth turns into Superman. It’s not a matter of personality transferal. It’s a severance, without pay or gratitude.
It’s just a job. The voices say Asian war bride, and I jot it down. I like my job. Once I punch in, I’m as free as a bird. It’s punching out that brings the roof down around my ears.
